Exposed
by Calie1
Summary: With their walls worn down they were both left exposed, unable to ignore or hide it any longer.


Notes: Set somewhere between Sacrifice and Salvation. Makes no mention of Hostage. Spoilers for Sacrifice though.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Chloe glanced up at the sound of his voice and shrugged.

He watched as she reached forward, grabbing the glass of wine on the small table on the side of the sofa. She took a generous sip of it, but instead of setting it back down she held onto it and looked straight ahead, staring at the TV. It didn't take a genius to know something was wrong, but it took someone that knew her to know this was uncharacteristic behavior for Chloe. Even under the worst of situations she was still moving. She wasn't sitting in the dark, curled up on the sofa with a throw over her, watching the Travel Channel and sipping wine.

With a sigh he walked around the sofa, coming to stop in front of her feet. He tapped her knee and waited for her to pull her knees to his chest. Once the cushion was free he sat and pulled her legs over to rest on his lap. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She wouldn't even look at him, her eyes glued to the TV.

"Well you aren't in bed," he countered.

"I wasn't tired," she said simply and shrugged as she sipped from the cool glass.

Usually when she wasn't tired he woke to her lips on his chest, her hand sliding down his stomach, and if he was lucky her lips wrapped around him. This wasn't that kind of not tired. She couldn't sleep. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said and shook her head, face neutral, eyes glued to the TV.

"You don't think I can tell when something is wrong?" She didn't respond, only brought the glass of wine to her lips and gulped the rest of it down. Her legs slipped from his lap and she tossed the blanket off of her. Just as she pushed up off the sofa Oliver leaned forward and grabbed her wrist. She stopped, still leaning forward to stand, and turned to him. Slowly, with his other hand, Oliver took the glass from her hand and placed it on the coffee table. It was obvious she didn't want to look at him, so he was grateful that she didn't try to pull away.

That night he'd wanted to cook her dinner, but she hadn't been hungry. He'd tried to tease her, but he couldn't get a smile. She'd showered on her own while he took a call. When he was through she was already curled up in his bed, so he took the hint and headed to the bathroom. When he'd come back she had barely moved. At first he'd suspected she'd fallen asleep on him, and he couldn't help but be slightly disappointed. But when he laid down facing her, it wasn't hard to see the light shining in her wide green eyes. Up to that point he'd let the rest of it go...knowing better than anyone that people had their off days. It wasn't until he reached for her, threading his fingers through her hair and kissing her lips did he fear her rejection. But she hadn't pushed him away, instead sliding up next to him, kissing him back.

Yet even as he laid on top of her in the dark, moving slowly inside of her, he still couldn't help but feel something was off. The way her nails dug into him, her face buried in his neck, the sounds of gasping she made, not loud, but sharp, almost shaky. It was slow and intense, but they hadn't said a word. When he'd pulled her to him afterwards she curled into his body...silent.

So now here she was, out of bed, unable to even look at him, and drinking. Chloe didn't drink, and she never drank in the dark by herself.

When he pulled at her arm she came willingly. "Come here," he whispered. As she dragged one knee onto the sofa and slid back onto the cushions, her body aligning with his, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. Eventually she was situated against his side, her head pillowed on his chest, her hand resting over his heart.

"Does it hurt?"

He looked down at her hand and frowned. It was odd that she was more bothered by the wound than he was. Oliver had long ago accepted that one day he might be scarred by something more than just the slip of a knife. "No." Her fingertips rubbed up and down over his t-shirt for a few moments, then she was moving. At first he worried she was extracting herself from him, needing to get away, but instead she slid over his lap, straddling him, her breasts pressing against his chest, arms wrapped around his neck. Her blonde hair brushed his cheek as she buried her face into him.

Then it suddenly hit him – it was getting to her. All of it. It was like her hard shell had been peeled back exposing a scared little girl to the world. He supposed it was the tower that did it ultimately. It was like a shell, hiding her, protecting her, and then it was gone. Her refuge was gone. Which made him wonder if that was why she was there, clinging to him. She had no family, her best friend was dealing with his own issues. That left Oliver.

With a sigh he rubbed his arm up and down her back, bringing the other up to comb through her straight strands. Something else that struck him as strange, she'd suddenly started straightening her hair again.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "It's going to be okay." Her arm tightened, her legs hugged his hip. Removing his hand from her back he slid it underneath the t-shirt she wore. His shirt. It was the only thing covering her. As he slid his hand up her shirt he realized she didn't even have underwear on. He felt a small twitch in his groin at the knowledge, but he held back.

He heard her shudder, felt her bury her face deep into his neck. Dropping his lips to her ear he whispered softly, "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

The grip she had on him loosened and she lifted her head and he would have sworn her eyes were glassier than usual.

"And what about you?" she asked softly, her brow drawing together and her green eyes showing the first sign of emotion since she'd stepped off the lift.

As he studied her first, trying to figure out what exactly was going on inside of her head, she started to turn her head, but he slid his hand to her cheek and stopped her. When she turned her eyes what he thought was glassiness were actually tears. For the life of him he couldn't ever remember ever seeing her cry. It tore through his heart, seeing her cry.

For months he'd been warning himself, preparing himself for the fallout that was bound to come with her. Chloe hadn't been ready for a relationship, she hadn't been ready for the emotional attachment, of that he was sure. So he'd sworn to himself to play it as well as he could, and never let her see exactly how much she had gotten to him.

Of course their lives were unpredictable, and intense situations brought out certain things in people that you could never predict. The watchtower shouldn't have been destroyed, the Kandorians shouldn't have had powers, they shouldn't have been raising hell, Oliver shouldn't have been taken down by Zod. But it had all happened, leaving both of them stripped down.

He'd held up longer he supposed. The watchtower had been her blow...and now he was beginning to suspect his own injuries may have affected her just as badly. His injuries he had been able to deal with, but it was the honest to god fear on her face, concern, tears streaming silently down her cheeks that was his final blow.

Her arms slid away, and he started to tighten his hold on her, but then he felt her hands on his cheeks, thumbs brushing over his skin gently.

"What if something happens to you?" she whispered, so low that he could barely hear her.

Then it hit him, much harder than he would have expected it to. The not eating, lack of humor, silence, the slow desperation as he moved inside of her, inability to sleep, the wine, the inability to look at him, and now her tears. It was everything coming down on her, but the sudden change? It was because of him, she was scared for him.

And he wanted to tell her he'd be fine, that he would come back and everything would be okay. But Chloe wasn't stupid. She may not have been on the front lines, but she saw them, she heard them, and had been unfortunate enough to lose people to them. He couldn't lie to her. "Chloe..." he trailed off, felt his breath shudder as his heart seemed to pound against his chest. He opened his mouth to say it, but then he closed it again and she was shaking her head, brushing her thumb over his lips.

"You don't have to say anything. In fact I wish you wouldn't. It would be easier this way." Safer...he could hear behind her words, behind her pained green eyes. Her thumb pressed against this lips, trying to silence him, and she almost did. Almost had him convinced that he could just say it all when it was over, if he made it out okay. But that wasn't acceptable, by all rights THEY shouldn't have happened. They had known each other for long enough without a moment, not a second, shared between them that would have made them think there could have been something more. Yet here they were, pressed against one another, as close as they could be without him being inside of her, more scared of losing one another than anything.

So he grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand away and said it anyway. "I love you." Seconds passed which seemed like hours, where she said nothing. "I'm sorry." He felt like an idiot apologizing for loving her, but Chloe, being who she was, it seemed like the right thing to do.

Then she kissed him...hard and desperate. He responded back in kind, sliding his fingers back into her hair and gripping it. Then she pulled away, just barely, pressing her forehead against his own. He could feel her warm breath, hear it shudder.

At some point as they kissed she had pushed herself up onto her knees and was now staring down at him, blond hair brushing his cheeks. He took her face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks, not even shying away from her green eyes, even though he had just admitted to a girl who was scared of strings and attachments, that he loved her.

"I love you too," she whimpered softly.

One second passed, one heartbeat, long enough for his eyes to widen at her admission and then he was pulling her lips back to his own, smashing her chest against his, and maneuvering them so that she was lying on the sofa and he settled between her legs.

Just as he was about to pull his shirt off her body he stopped, pulling his lips from her own, and looked down at her. "Hey." Her heavy eyes opened, revealing her green eyes to him. He loved green. "I won't leave you." And he wouldn't, he'd have to be taken from her for it to happen, and by the tears in her eyes he suspected she knew that too. So he kissed her, hard and deep, taking her on the sofa and the rest of the night in the bed.

If he came back for anything, it was going to be for her.


End file.
